


rushing through my veins, burning up my skin

by sublimity



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Character Study, Enemies to Lovers, Eve Polastri-centric, F/F, Kissing, Minor Character Death, Post-Season/Series 03, Unhealthy Relationships, it doesn't happen directly in the story but villanelle talks about killing her mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24982198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sublimity/pseuds/sublimity
Summary: You were never like them,Villanelle has said. Wasn’t she? That’s what it used to feel like, but maybe Eve had just managed to keep her monster locked safely away for years before it finally clawed its way through.*Or: Eve, Villanelle, and everything that follows.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 4
Kudos: 84





	rushing through my veins, burning up my skin

**Author's Note:**

> not sure if i like this, but i really needed to get it off my chest either way, so here goes. title is from love crime by siouxsie sioux, because we must remember our roots and because hannibal and killing eve are mirror images of each other and i find that beautiful.
> 
> once again, [here](https://www.bleumag.com/2020/06/03/30-blm-petitions-you-should-sign-right-now/) are some petitions to sign to help the black lives matter movement. please consider doing that.
> 
> without further ado — enjoy!

> A lover? Maybe. Something tender, anyway. But tender like a bruise.
> 
> — **Marie Rutkoski** , from “The Winner’s Kiss”

“You turned around,” Villanelle says, her wide blue eyes bright with wondrous delight, roaming Eve’s face in a fascinated manner like she sees something there that she’s been looking to find. Gentle wind is playing with the loose strands of her hair, and Eve’s breath catches in her throat.

“So did you.”

The corners of Villanelle’s lips twist into a smile. “I was hoping you would.” She stretches out a hand. “Will you come with me, Eve?”

Eve nods without a second thought. “All right,” she exhales, taking Villanelle’s hand in hers and squeezing it lightly. She doesn’t ask where. She suddenly finds that she doesn’t really mind not knowing.

*

It hits her somewhere halfway that she’s being led God knows where by a trained assassin with at least a few dozen dead bodies under her belt, which would’ve been a notably anxiety-inducing thought once and doesn’t scare current Eve in the slightest. It’s not out of morbid curiosity that she allows it, but the strange trust having wound its vines like ivy around the two of them. She thinks of Niko’s words; of Bill’s, Carolyn’s, Hugo’s. She thinks of how she’d be looked upon by strangers on the street if they knew about the things she’s done, the things she fears she would be capable of doing if only she were to let herself run free. She imagines most of the looks on their faces would be disdained and horrified. She thinks her past self would feel that way about her now, too.

 _You were never like them,_ Villanelle has said. Wasn’t she? That’s what it used to feel like, but maybe Eve had just managed to keep her monster locked safely away for years before it finally clawed its way through.

Her mind wanders back to Niko — to how she has ruined his life and how she wishes it didn’t have to be this way, but that she wouldn’t go back to how things used to be if given the chance. She thinks of how being normal used to feel boring and tedious and exhausting, and how Villanelle entering her life was like a breath of fresh air in some sick twisted way they both found so intoxicatingly alluring.

Fingers intertwine firmly with hers. Eve looks at Villanelle and catches herself wondering how something so inherently dangerous can feel so safe.

*

They’re lying on the rose gold silk sheets of a king-sized bed in an apartment Eve assumes must have been a hideout for one of Villanelle’s missions or something of the kind — it’s fancy and furnished, but not lived-in or exceptionally homely. She’s suddenly reminded of the time in Paris when something almost happened between the two of them before she pushed a knife into Villanelle’s chest, her shocked eyes meeting a pair of terrified ones. Or maybe, she thinks, whatever it was, it did happen after all. Maybe it wasn’t anything palpable, but something that tied them to each other in an irrevocable way. Something that made it forever impossible for them to escape one another.

Eve sighs, rubbing her eyes. She suddenly feels very, very tired from the weight of everything that’s happened in the past few weeks, tons and tons of it that need processing in order to move past them. Eve feels like she’s been running on an adrenaline rush without stopping or letting her mind wander too much, like she’s been scared something will catch up to her and crush her in its grasp if she makes the mistake of slowing down. She doesn’t want to deal with any of it or what it means for her and the future or what their next steps should be — Carolyn and Konstantin and the Twelve can surely wait for now, can’t they? All she wants is to stay in the moment and tone her buzzing brain down.

“I killed my mother,” Villanelle says suddenly, unexpectedly. It pulls Eve out of her thoughts, and she blinks slowly, propping herself up on one elbow.

“Wait, what?”

Villanelle inhales deeply, as if steeling herself. “I went to Russia, to see my family. What became of it, anyway.” She waves a hand dismissively. “I thought… I don’t even know. My mother, she always used to be so mean. She thought I was — _difficult_ , that there was this _darkness_ inside of me, and she couldn’t fucking stand it. That’s why she dumped me at an orphanage as a kid and never came back.” Villanelle’s voice is steady, controlled, but her face is scrunched into a grimace. Eve feels a sudden impulse to reach out and give her a reassuring touch. She keeps her hands to herself. “But I came back on my own, all those years later — and she was still mean. She acted like she had changed, like she was so nice all of a sudden, but it just turned out to be a massive load of bullshit. So I killed her,” she says, voice dropping down to a whisper at the last few words, spoken like a revelation in the quiet of the night.

“Okay,” Eve breathes out, feeling a shudder go through her body. Villanelle turns to the side, facing her, the two of them now inches from each other.

“She was a bad person.”

“Okay,” Eve repeats. She doesn’t know what else to say. She’s unsure if there’s anything to say to that at all. _Good thing she’s dead? She had it coming? I’m sorry you had to go through that?_ Somehow she doesn’t think any of those would be appreciated.

“I think I’m a bad person,” Villanelle says, looking Eve in the eye, naked vulnerability in the lines of her face. “Do you think so? Do you think I am?”

Eve doesn’t speak for a long moment and then exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I— Truthfully, I don’t think either of us have exactly been… good people in a long time. Maybe we never have been. And maybe… you know, I’m starting to think that maybe that’s okay.”

“What,” Villanelle asks, raising an eyebrow at Eve, “because we have each other?” She laughs. “God, you’re such a sap.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said that, not me!” Eve points out, and it gets a similar laugh out of her — bright, open, like nothing else exists outside of the walls and corners of this apartment for a brief while.

“You were _going_ to!” Villanelle insists, a smug smile now playing on her lips, and it suddenly hits Eve that this feels an awful lot like _flirting_. She feels a pleasant warmth settle inside her chest, tiny flames of it licking her cheeks. She’s suddenly much more aware of the closeness of Villanelle’s body next to hers, too.

“Yeah, all right, _maybe_ ,” she agrees. “I’m not sure what I was going to say, but have it your way.”

And they haven’t been drinking, but Eve’s mind feels hazy and slightly disoriented. The lights are low and dim, and Villanelle is looking at her with curiosity and something else in her gaze that she can’t quite place.

“Eve,” she calls, barely audible. If they hadn’t been lying so close to each other, she wouldn’t have been able to hear it.

And Eve doesn’t think. “Can I kiss you?” she asks, much to her own surprise. Her heart is racing with unrestrained wanting. Villanelle seems startled for a moment, and then a smile blossoms on her face, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“You didn’t ask on the bus.”

Eve opens and closes her mouth. “I— You didn’t seem to have minded,” she says, feeling like an idiot.

Villanelle hums, looking her up and down in a way that makes Eve’s skin feel on fire without any touch. “No, I didn’t. But this time, it’s _me_ that’s kissing _you_.”

Next thing she knows, Villanelle’s lips are on hers, fingers sliding gently through Eve’s hair, and it feels like a supernova exploding in her chest — not like their first kiss, which was a quick, sloppy press of their mouths together, some kind of resolution for the tension building up for months and months and lingering in the space between their bodies; this kiss feels like a culmination of everything leading up to it, like an abyss opening itself up and Eve falling right into the infinite darkness, her hand on Villanelle’s slender shoulder. She feels — _seen_ somehow, bare naked and known by the hands of this woman, exploring inch after inch of her blazing skin.

“ _Oksana_ ,” she whispers hoarsely, pulling away just slightly so that their foreheads are touching. She’s being watched earnestly by hungry eyes, Villanelle’s hazel irises barely visible around dilated pupils. “I—”

“Don’t speak.”

“No, wait,” Eve says, hands enveloping Villanelle’s tenderly. “Listen. When all this is over… when we’ve stopped the Twelve for good… run away with me.” She’s taken aback by the sincerity in her own voice, but for everything that’s felt so wrong about her life for years and years, this right now feels scarily _right_. Throughout the entirety of their continuous cat-and-mouse dance, there’d been the constant element of terrifying understanding that Eve thought better to deny. She doesn’t think she can, anymore, and it’s _liberating_. She’s killed. It felt — awful and grand and powerful. She felt like God. She felt human to the bone. Loving Villanelle feels like that — like killing, intense and boundless by its nature. Her lungs are full of it. She breathes in.

She’s met with a Cheshire cat-like grin, all gums and teeth. “You want us to run away together?”

Eve shrugs, letting out a short soundless laugh. “Well… I would like to. I think I recall you mentioning Alaska?”

Villanelle chuckles incredulously. “Sure. Yeah, let’s go to Alaska,” she agrees, leaning in closer, her breath hot against Eve’s mouth. It’s dizzying. “You’re my dream woman, Eve Polastri, you know that?” She grazes Eve’s cheekbone with her lips, trailing feather-light kisses up to her ear, sending shivers down Eve’s spine as she whispers: “Now shut up and have me.”

The monster in Eve’s chest roars. The scent of Villanelle’s perfume is all she can smell; the curve of her body is all that she can feel. She doesn’t know if they’ll manage to make it out alive and go to Alaska or anywhere at all, but it feels like something. It feels solid. It feels like a promise.


End file.
